


Gone

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are whispers, all throughout Hell's Kitchen.<br/>Daredevil has lost someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8423.html?thread=16457191#cmt16457191

There are whispers, all throughout Hell's Kitchen.

_Daredevil has lost someone._

 

Everyone, even the criminals, have grown quiet. Out of a sort of respect, even the crime has stopped.

The whispers continue.

_The Devil of Hell's Kitchen is grieving._

 

Perhaps it was more out of fear than out of respect that the city grew quiet. Would the loss be the thing that finally moved him to kill?

No one wanted to find out.

 

 

Matt was on patrol when he came across the body. The person had been shot twice in the chest. He was still bleeding, but only the kind where gravity was dragging blood from the body, not the kind where the heart was pumping it out.

Because there was no heartbeat.

 

Matt crossed himself, was ready to retreat and go get the police who could deal with what was an active crime scene. But something made him hesitate, maybe the same something that had stopped Foggy from calling 911 that fateful night he found him bleeding in his own living room.

(Apparently funny things happen when friends find each other in blood. Because it was his friend.)

It was Foggy.

 

Matt would know him anywhere, even in death.

 

 

“Oh god,” Matt choked out. “Oh god no. Please no. Please god no. Foggy. Please Foggy.”

He might have gathered Foggy in his arms, he wasn't sure. Everything was a blur.

“Please wake up,” he begged. “Please Foggy. Please.”

 

“Sir?” someone asked. “Do you need help? Is there anything I can do for him?”

“Don't touch him. Don't fucking touch him. Can't you see what's happened? It's too late; you can't help.”

“I'm sorry-”

“Get away!” he screamed. The tears inside his mask would have blurred his vision, if he had any, but as it is, he can still trace the outline of Foggy's body perfectly.

Grief had never been able to cloud his vision.

 

Matt lifted Foggy's hand to his face. Held it to his cheek. The flesh was cool and it made him want to sob anew. He bit back the tears.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Foggy's forehead.

It was their first, and would be their last.

He smoothed Foggy's hair, tucked it behind his ears, wondered when it had gotten so long again.

He hated that he had missed it. Had missed so much of Foggy's life.

 

He returned home. He felt like he should have continued on, looking for whoever did it to Foggy, find them and beat them. Wet his fists and salt the earth with their blood. Listen as they begged him to spare their pitiful life. Like Foggy had probably begged for his life.

But the anger, the drive, it just wasn't there. He felt... nothing.

 

So he went home.

 

 

Matt had never been overcome by grief like this before. He had known his fair share of grief, had lost enough people in his life to be familiar with the process.

 

First was his father, most recently was Elektra.

But the loss of Foggy was something else. The other deaths had sparked something in him, rage, the Devil inside the Murdock boys his grandmother had known about.

But this time, there was no rage. No spark.

Just a hollow emptiness where the rage used to be.

 

 

“I'm sorry Red,” Frank said, just under his breath one night. He was on Matt's roof.

He was sincere and Matt hated it.

Because if anyone knew what Matt was going through, it was Frank Castle. Frank, who had lost his entire family, his entire life, in the span of a few moments. Frank who had turned the pain into rage.

Matt was used to doing that too, but this time it was just... gone.

 

He kind of hoped Frank would come in, but the man had never been very good with words.

 

Matt didn't think he could come up with any either, but at least he wouldn't be so alone.

 

 

Crime didn't stop, but it stayed out of Hell's Kitchen. The weeks after Foggy's death were the quietest the city had ever been. Matt didn't have it in himself to appreciate it.

 

The whispers were still out there. _Daredevil is grieving._ And for whatever reason, the criminals stayed away.

 

Maybe it had more to do with the threat of the Punisher at the ready to take up the mantle, and he was far less kind with criminals.

 

 

Brett didn't have any leads. Matt didn't know where to begin, couldn't bring himself to even put on the costume, not after he'd failed the person he owed the most to.

If a man couldn't save his best friend, what else was there for him to do.

 

 

He went to confession.

“Your friend's death is not your fault,” Father Lantom told him, over and over, like the repetition might make Matt believe it.

He didn't though. Sometimes Father only told him what he thought Matt should hear, not what was true.

After all, Matt knew he had failed.

 

 

He couldn't find a reason to put the mask back on again. He still heard the suffering, heard the sirens and the cries in the night. But none of it mattered. None of it made a difference.

 

 

Foggy was gone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I apparently like suffering. That's the only reason I can come up with for why I wrote this.


End file.
